


recovery (there are better ways to do this)

by furyspook



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furyspook/pseuds/furyspook
Summary: blast off deals with the consequences of his actions, in a wayaka i love blast off and i'm too impatient to wait and see how this arc plays out so i'm just gonna have a go at it myself.





	recovery (there are better ways to do this)

**Author's Note:**

> i know that canon's probably going to Kick My Ass about this but i just have a lot of thoughts.   
> some warnings :   
> -i dont know what the generally accepted terms are for like. standard cybertronian passages of time, or body parts, or whatever, so im going to be using the usual sort. if i figure it out and edit the chapters with the Robot Terms i'll let you know in the notes of newer chapters   
> -this is actually planned out ! ive got like 9 chapters in a really rough outline, so hopefully i don't drop it like a hot potato

For a while there had been a certain mundanity– a certain  _comfort_  in returning to his schedule after his gestalt was released from medical. Things were different under Starscream’s direct authority, but not overmuch. In passing he would still trade greetings with members of the council, return bright optics when Lightbright smiled in passing, exchange quips over refueling terminals with members of public security. It may all have been a farce to the Combaticons’ benefit, but the time he spent training under Ironhide and alongside his badgeless recruits had instilled in Blast Off a sort of calm belonging he’d not experienced in thousands of years. The Decepticons– and his gestalt in particular –were a home he wouldn’t soon relinquish (holding it tightly, with both hands, watching them stray farther than the length of his reach or the cage of his desperate fingers as they all struggled to find their feet in a world so changed), but in the aftermath of his conveniently public falling-out with Onslaught the rookie squad had become a home of another kind. For that short time the feeling of desperation abated and Blast Off felt like part of a whole again despite the yawning emptiness where Swindle’s presence used to occupy space. Something itched under his armor when he thought about that emptiness now. If he reached out to it he could just make out an answering tug and rest assured that his friend was safe in Airachnid’s medbay, but it felt wrong to try. The Combaticons hardly thought about their shared consciousness anymore, not after the millions of years they had to adapt to the feeling, but with his role in Starscream’s brave new world Blast Off felt more aware than ever. 

He knew each of them so intimately that the thought of reprogramming even one  _circuit_  made his tanks riot in the very pit of him. 

During working hours Blast Off could almost forget he’d done wrong. The bonds he’d forged with his squad were genuine so far as he could tell, and he enjoyed working with them far more than he enjoyed wasting away in the apartment block watching Brawl drink himself offline. 

They didn’t live in the apartment block anymore. With their boost in position the Combaticons had been moved into the senate building and now received adequate pay for marching His Highness through its halls. Starscream, for his part, wasn’t the worst part of the job. Even with his innumerable smirks, the knowing light to his optics that had Blast Off teetering on the edge of violent reprisal, the way those optics said ‘You’ve done a bad thing,’ Starscream was an obstacle in the day-by-day that Blast Off was able to cope with– the real pressure/sickness/pain waited at home. 

–-

It was too quiet. Under his armor Blast Off’s protoform was both too warm and too cold, and the movement of his arms was slow to return to his control. His optic band was dim but he could see every facet in the unsympathetic steel wall in front of him. Even with the distressed exvents of Vortex beside him it was too quiet. Making his fingers move again was his next task, keeping his mind off of how suddenly, _achingly_  empty it was, and Blast Off turned his attention down to his hands where he twitched each of his fingers in turn. Bent them. Listened to Vortex’s voice box stall. He raised his arms until his hands were at optic level. Behind him Onslaught’s knees scraped the ground as the larger mech stood. Blast Off put his hands down to push himself to his own feet. Vortex’s voice box was clicking. 

When there was no word from the observation booth set high into the wall Onslaught turned to address his companions himself. Blast Off wouldn’t exactly have called him charismatic, but nothing in his posture suggested they’d just broken apart after a spectacularly bad first combination. Optic band bright, Onslaught encouraged them, “That wasn’t terrible!” 

“’Wasn’t terrible’?” Vortex had found his voice again, “Your filthy fingers in my brain isn’t exactly  _my_  idea of a good time.”

Onslaught didn’t acknowledge him with any heat, holding out his hands in a placating gesture to which Vortex scoffed and Brawl turned down his head. “You agreed to this. We’ve been acclimating to life in each-other’s presence for months. It’s as un-invasive as it can get.” 

“I mean, not what  _I_  would call it.” Swindle had been quiet since they broke apart, and when Blast Off cast a glance his way he noted the smaller mech hadn’t done more than sit up where he’d fallen. His optics were trained on Onslaught, though his voice droned.

“It doesn’t matter what you would call it.” Blast Off returned his full attention to Onslaught, who now scanned the other members of his gestalt with a raking gaze. Blast Off stood a little straighter, kept his mouth shut. “The combination was successful. The more we try, the longer we’ll be able to stay together,” Onslaught shot Vortex a pointed look, “The less we’ll notice how little privacy we have when we’re together.” 

Vortex didn’t seem assuaged, but the helicopter didn’t try to argue a second time. Brawl raised his head and stood to his full height, looking at the observation booth. Harshly backlit, the shapes of two frames stood just behind the glass where before there had been no sign of life. In a static crackle the speakers behind the gestalt came to life and over it one of the mechs announced that the test was successful and that they would be expected to report to that very test chamber the next day and on for the next several weeks. Swindle and Vortex looked irritated, and Blast Off opted to keep his own displeasure to himself. 

Onslaught addressed his gestalt again, a call for engex and a  _lot_  of it. Vortex’s hand clamped down on Blast Off’s shoulder (the nearest thing to him within clamping distance) and echoed the cheer. They were an inseparable unit, now, and Blast Off supposed he’d better get used to this sort of rough casual contact.

–-

The door slid shut behind him, and Blast Off replaced his facemask to hide the twitching corners of his mouth from his more observant gestaltmates. Brawl would be gone for the rest of the dark-cycle, watching Starscream’s habsuite to ensure his safety in the most well-guarded building in the most well-guarded sector of Metroplex. He crossed to the energon dispenser– and weren’t they living the high life, now –while he considered for the umpteenth time the fact that that rat could sleep soundly under the watchful optic band of somebody whose mind he’d invaded, stirred like congealing engex. There was a reason he’d managed to keep the position of Megatron’s second-in-command despite his failings, his cowardice. Ruthlessness suited the ugly baring of his teeth and the up-turn of his nose. Blast Off downed his ration without tasting it. 

“How goes?” Vortex had looked up from the datapad between his hands only momentarily to see who’d walked into the suite. Noises emanating from the device suggested he was playing some sort of game, and with the way his head turned away from Blast Off as soon as it’d been directed at him he was invested in its outcome. 

Blast Off tossed the empty cube into the sink. “Fine.” 

The edge to his response went unnoticed by his gestaltmate, either too disinterested in what he had to say to have been paying any real attention or too busy with his game to have heard him. What with the way his tanks rolled when he spoke with him for too long, Blast Off was almost relieved to be ignored. The longer he spoke to any one of them the more apparent it became that they’d been altered, the memories Starscream had had replaced slipping into conversation as casually as anything. They had no reason to believe it was anything other than casual conversation. Just a couple of months ago Blast Off would’ve been pissed they cared so little what he had to say, but then if they hadn’t bothered to listen before they were unlikely to notice his grudging silence now. 

“You’re back!” Onslaught caught him off guard and with his back turned, and Blast Off was thankful his mouth was obscured when he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth on a sharp invent. When Blast Off turned to greet his friend he found Onslaught closer than expected, one of his bulky arms rested behind Blast Off on the counter and his face hovered above Blast Off’s own with a cheerful glow in his optics. “Did you see Swindle?” 

The high-pitched beeping of Vortex’s game quieted very slightly. “Not tonight,” There was a noticeable shift in Onslaught’s posture as he adapted to the news, and disappointment was written into the way his glow dimmed. “But I’m sure Airachnid would tell us if there were any changes.” 

“I’m sure you’re right.” Onslaught hadn’t moved away, and Blast Off could feel the heat radiating off of his frame. It tickled at the edge of his awareness and pulled a smile from the shuttle. His face may have been hidden but Onslaught didn’t miss the way his optic band shuttered at its edges, and Blast Off felt the other’s fingers ghost over his forearm before pulling away and crossing the room to the energon dispenser. He hated himself for the way that near-nothing touch set his spark racing, and he hated more the indisputable knowledge that it was Starscream’s tampering that pushed his closeness. 

His frame was chilled where moments ago he’d been excitably warm. 

“I’m about to turn on the holo, if you want to stay up with me?” Onslaught was on the couch with one arm strewn over its back. No doubt if Blast Off were to join him that arm would come to rest over his shoulder. 

“C’mon, Blast Off, join us! When was the last time we sat down and watched the news as a team?” Vortex hopped onto the opposite arm of the couch, datapad abandoned on the floor. Blast Off vented a sigh and shook his head, optic band dimming. Vortex’s piping up was just what he needed to decline Onslaught’s offer on the side of his better judgement. Without the distraction of a third party he might’ve ignored it and played along with whatever domestic nonsense Onslaught had planned: he’d wanted it for so long, it was easy to get lost in the idea of being a  _pair_  rather than two parts of a larger whole. He was too far into his own processor to be around anyone else tonight. 

“Nah, I’m headed to recharge. You two bond enough for all three of us, alright?” The cheerful intonation of his voice meant his gestaltmates didn’t notice how weary he really felt, and Blast Off watched them both turn away from him again. 

“See you bright and early, Blast Off.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really only familiar with idw and prime transformers canon, but if you wanna hmu about either of those things you can find me on tumblr @blastcff [eyebrow waggle]


End file.
